


she has flowers in her hair and death at her feet

by bellarkebc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarkebc/pseuds/bellarkebc
Summary: Watching her now, smiling and laughing as the little Skaikru girls weave flowers into her hair and swirl bright paint onto her face, he wonders when exactly she let go of the deadly warrior facade and decided to live so freely. And, as she turns to look at him, her blue eyes sparkling dangerously, he also wonders why his chest feels so warm and his heart so full.orTo save his people, Bellamy is forced into an arranged marriage with the grounder warrior Wanheda, the commander of death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Wells share a look, uneasiness passing between them.
> 
> “Belomi gon skaikru, meet your betrothed. Wanheda, the commander of death.”

~ ~

Bellamy sucks in a breath, hoping he had somehow misheard her.

“You’re asking too much” Wells says, taking a step towards the commander, Lexa, who is sitting comfortably on her throne twirling a dagger in her hand.

The grounders standing either side of her step forwards, meaning to force him back.

Lexa lifts her hand lazily and their advance stops. Bellamy inches closer to Wells. 

“Did you not come here seeking an alliance?” Lexa asks, her patience wearing thin. Bellamy’s eyes drop briefly to see that her grip on the dagger has tightened. 

“Yes but…” Wells starts. 

Bellamy lifts his eyes back to Lexa’s, to find her gaze already on him; scrutinising, curious. He wills himself not to squirm. 

“This is the way my people do things.” Lexa says, her eyes lifting back to Wells, her voice harsh, “If you truly want the fighting to stop, you will sacrifice your own traditions and accept ours.” 

Bellamy watches Wells slowly step back, his courage wavering. 

“What else would this alliance call for?” Bellamy asks, finally finding his voice. 

All the grounders turn to look at him. The corner of Lexa’s mouth quirks up quickly, so fast Bellamy isn’t even sure if it was real. 

“As I said, you would offer up your leader for a marital union, to ensure you can not back out of this alliance and that my people would not dare attack.” She sits back, stabbing the tip of her dagger in the armrest of her throne. 

Bellamy watches as she places her palm on the top of its hilt, her fingers tapping its side. The ease with which she handles the weapon, makes him tense. These people were raised for war. To be vicious. If he or Wells made one wrong move or insulted the commander in some way, their people were doomed.

“To further align our clans, _trikru_ and _skaikru_ will send different representatives to live amongst the other clan. We will live together, learn about each other’s culture. In return for your people, we will protect you from _azgeda_ and teach you the skills you need to survive the ground. To survive winter, which I am sure you are not equipped for.” 

She’s right of course.

If he was to get the 100 through winter with limited casualties, he was going to have to accept this alliance. But with all the hostility the grounders had constantly shown them since they landed, how could he trust them to uphold whatever agreement they come to?

Lexa leans forwards, her eyes seemingly peering into his soul.

“We honour our alliances.” She finishes, as if she could read his distrust like it was written all over his face, “The marriage will ensure that.” 

Bellamy sees Wells shift uncomfortably. He turns and makes eye contact with him, looking completely out of his depth. 

Bellamy clenches his jaw. 

“We’ll do it.” 

“Good.” 

Lexa smiles, almost feral like. Even through the warrior getup and the fierce war paint surrounding her eyes, Bellamy can see just how young she is. The grounders, these fierce, hostile warriors, are being led by just a girl.

But he supposes, his people are merely a bunch of teenagers. 

What has Earth come to.

 

“ _Yu, find Wanheda en bring her kom me.”_ Lexa speaks to the grounder standing at her right, never once taking her eyes off of the two of them. 

Bellamy watches as the towering man nods and turns to leave the tent, his massive coat swishing as he walks. The club he holds in his hand swings with the momentum of his movement.  

“Where is he going?” Wells asks.

“To find Wanheda. She will be marrying your leader.” She says calmly.

“The marriage is to be held today?” Wells splutters, “We haven’t even discussed who we're are going to offer!”

Lexa tilts her head. 

“I asked for your leader. There is nothing more to discuss.”  

Bellamy catches on a second before Wells. 

“Me?” He asks. 

Wells sucks in a breath beside him.

Lexa turns to him, slowly losing her patience.

“You are the _skaikru_ leader aren’t you? I don’t see why there is an issue,” her eyes flash, “You agreed to this alliance. You knew the terms.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw together. He had come to discuss peace for his people, not to marry some stranger. 

In his peripheral vision, he sees Wells open his mouth to retort. He stops him, grabbing tightly at his wrist. 

“Bellamy…” Wells says, hopeless. It’s nice, Bellamy thinks, that although they definitely didn’t get off to the best start, he is still trying to defend him. 

He turns to Lexa, releasing Wells. He lifts his chin up slightly, staring directly into the fierce eyes of the commander.

“I’ll do it.”

Lexa nods before turning her head in time to see the flaps of the tent being pulled aside. The grounder from earlier steps through, reclaiming his space at the commander’s side. 

Bellamy’s attention isn’t on him, however. 

 

Slipping in quietly behind him, is a warrior. _Wanheda._ Although she is at least a foot shorter than the grounder before her, she is no less fierce. Her startling blonde hair is twisted back from her face in intricate braids, with streaks of red curling through. Her eyes are a storming blue; fierce, unforgiving, enhanced by the black paint swirled over her cheeks and under her eyes. 

Her face shows no emotion as he and Wells openly stare at her. Their eyes meet briefly making Bellamy’s fingers tingle, but she looks away, bored. As she turns to face her commander, the large black coat she wears shifts slightly to reveal the mass of weapons strapped to her side.  

Bellamy and Wells share a look, uneasiness passing between them.

 

“ _Belomi gon skaikru_ , meet your betrothed. Wanheda, the commander of death.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Bellamy has a feeling that Lexa likes to mess with people. Sure, she’s scary and fierce and does what she thinks is best for her people, but he’s 90% sure she made him believe that he was going to have to marry a complete stranger on the same day he met them just to fuck with him. 

It turns out, that while the grounders do believe in arranged marriages between two clans for union, they still believe in engagement and spending time organising a wedding. 

“Wanheda and some _trikru_ will travel back with you. They will take in your situation and report back to me in two weeks so we know what our best course of action is.” Lexa says to the small _skaikru_ group. 

The rest of their envoy which had before been forced to stay out of the commander’s tent, was standing slightly behind Bellamy as Lexa went over the details of their alliance. Once she mentioned the marriage he was to be a part of, Bellamy’s eyes dropped to the ground to avoid the reactions of the others around him. 

“You will come back with them after the two weeks is up and you will get married. It is up to you and Wanheda to decide how you split your time between the two clans.” Lexa said, speaking directly to him. 

Bellamy lifts his eyes, catching eye contact with the blonde, _his fiancé holy shit_ , standing mutely to the side of Lexa. He still hasn’t heard her speak her opinion on the alliance, or even heard her voice in general he realises. Maybe she wasn’t much of a talker. 

She looks away before he does, taking in the mismatched gangly teens standing behind him. He wonders if she thinks that making an alliance with a bunch of teenagers is a bad idea. But then again, looking closer at her now, she only looks about 18 herself.

He watches as she purses her lips at Jasper. 

Bellamy groans internally, the kid still has the stupid goggles on his head. The only reason why he’d let him come was the fact that he didn’t trust him to not do something dumb if he was left at the camp by himself. 

“You are dismissed,” Lexa calls to his group, “You will wait at the edge of the village until we meet you.” 

Lexa turns away from them swiftly, facing Wanheda. 

_“Osir can ste ge out gon disha hukop klark.”_ She says.

If Bellamy didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the commander sounded desperate.

The grounder guards start to usher him out of the tent. Craning his head, he sees the blonde shake her head defiantly. Before he has the chance to hear her reply, however, the flap of the tent is closed behind him. 

He huffs in annoyance. 

 

The group is silent for a few moments, not knowing how to break the awkward tension. 

“So…a grounder wife…” Jasper starts, smirking at Bellamy. 

“Not now Jasper.” He replies, still not wanting to think about his engagement. To the others he says, “Come on, we have to get the edge of the camp, and I don’t like the looks the grounders are giving us.” 

They nod, almost in unison, and follow him out of the heart of the grounder camp. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The first thought that goes through Bellamy’s mind when he sees the group of grounders approaching them, the blonde in the centre, is that she looks younger without the black face paint.

In true grounder fashion, the group is still wearing multiple layers of clothes and shouldering menacing looking weapons, but they’ve all ditched the face masks and war paint so Bellamy takes that as a good sign. 

They stop in front of his group, sizing him up. 

Bellamy clears his throat awkwardly to say something when one of the larger grounders speaks first. 

“We better get going if we want to reach your camp before dark.”

Bellamy’s eyes flick up to his.

“I’m Lincoln.” The grounder adds as an afterthought, “And this is Acher, Tiga, and Monty.” He points out the others behind him in turn. 

Bellamy nods to the last one, Monty, who seems a lot nicer than the rest, and then his eyes flick to Wanheda. 

She still says nothing. 

“I’m Bellamy and this is Wells, Miller, Jasper and Finn.” Bellamy says, pointing out the boys beside him. Lincoln and Monty nod along, while the others stay silent. 

A beat passes.

“So is your name actually Wanheda or is that some sort of weird grounder branding?” Jasper asks the blonde. 

The rest of the group tenses. Bellamy suddenly has the urge to pop him in the jaw. 

To his surprise, the blonde’s mouth quirks up into a half smile. 

“It’s Clarke.” She says. 

Bellamy’s throat goes a little dry. Her voice is deeper and more sultry than he’d imagined it to sound….it suits her. 

She eyes him before saying something to the grounders in trigedasleng, making them start to walk in the direction of the dropship. 

“You coming?” She says over her shoulder, seeing the way his group is rooted in place. 

Bellamy blinks a couple times before nodding and following after them, the others falling into step beside him. 

He wonders how the others will react when he comes back with a group of grounders and a fiancé. 

 

Octavia was going to kill him. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

By the time they reached the outskirts of camp, they only had about an hour left of sunlight. Upon reaching the structurally-unsound gate that they had haphazardly thrown together around the camp to keep out predators, he could hear the bustle of the 100. Several of the ‘guards’ (random kids holding guns), stood at the top of the wall, pointing their weapons at the grounders as they approached. 

Clarke held up a hand for the other grounders to stop behind her. 

_“Ste ona guard”_ she says under her breath, her hand on one of the many knives on her person. 

Bellamy walks over to her and places a hand over hers, gently pulling it away from the weapon. He pointedly ignores the slight tingle that starts to spread up his arm. 

“They’re more likely to trust you if you don’t show up at their door holding weapons.”

She narrows her eyes at him and shakes his hand off. Bellamy rolls his eyes and steps past her. 

“O let us in!” He yells, checking behind him to see if Clarke told the other grounders to let their weapons go.

“You do realise you have a bunch of grounders behind you right?” Octavia yells back, appearing at the top of the wall.  

He raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. She grins back before yelling at some kid below her to open the gate. 

As the group walks in, the teens stay back, wary. Some of them are still holding guns, which he notices the grounders eye distrustfully, while others hold crudely made knives. 

Suddenly, he has an arm full of Octavia, as she launches herself at him in a tight hug. 

“Hi big brother.”

“You do realise I was only gone for like a few hours right?” He asks her, hugging back just as tightly before letting her go. 

“You do realise you walked willingly into a camp full of the people trying to kill us right?” she quips back. 

Bellamy ruffles her hair and steps away to check on the group of grounders. 

“Well they aren’t trying to kill us anymore. We have an alliance.”

A low murmur travels amongst the delinquents. Bellamy catches some of the words of disbelief. 

“What’s the catch?” Murphy asks, suddenly pushing to the front of the group, into the small clearing that had been made around the grounders. 

Bellamy’s eyes quickly dart to Clarke. The aggression that had slowly been disappearing as they'd walked together, is back in her eyes. It’s slightly unnerving. 

Bellamy opens his mouth to answer when Jasper cuts him off. 

“Bellamy’s engaged.” He blurts. 

 

The 100 fall silent. 

 

Octavia steps forwards, her face screwed up in confusion. 

“What?”

“The grounders use arranged marriages to unite different clans.” Miller explains, stepping up beside Bellamy. 

“If we want an alliance with them, we have to offer up our leader for an arranged marriage, and send some of our people to live with their clan. In return, the commander said she’d protect us from different threats and her people would prepare us for winter.” Wells elaborates further, glancing at Bellamy briefly. 

Bellamy shifts awkwardly from one foot to another. 

“So you have to marry a grounder?” Octavia asks, slow. 

Bellamy nods. 

“We need the alliance O.” He says quietly, only to her. Then, to the delinquents he yells, “Alright everyone back to work! This camp isn’t going to run itself. The grounders are here for two weeks to observe us, to see what changes we need to make so we can survive. They are not to be harmed. Get to work!”

Most of them disperse, awkwardly shuffling back to their duties, still throwing wary and sometimes dirty looks to the grounders. He notices that Clarke glares back. 

His lips quirk upwards. 

“So who’s the lucky grounder you’re getting to hitched to?” He hears Raven joke, coming up to stand in front of him where some of the others still linger. 

“He is to marry Wanheda.” One of the grounders, Tiga he thinks, says forcefully. 

One of Raven’s eyebrow lifts up. 

“Wanheda?” She questions. 

“The commander of death.” Finn elaborates, coming up to put an arm over her shoulders. 

“Peachy.” 

“Her real name is Clarke.” Bellamy says, pointedly ignoring the weird looks Octavia is giving him. 

“It’s the blonde isn’t it?” Octavia asks.

Bellamy nods, allowing himself to look over at Clarke finally. She stands close to Lincoln, speaking to him in their language, quiet and fast, occasionally pointing at different things in the camp. Monty stands next to them, listening quietly, while the other two stand like body guards on either side of Clarke. Bellamy watches as she throws an intense glare at a gangly teen that had been making lewd comments about her, probably not realising she understood english. 

“Kinda scary, kinda hot.” Raven says finally. 

“Are you sure this alliance is going to hold?” Finn asks, eyeing the grounder’s weapons.

“The commander swears it will.” Bellamy answers with a shrug.

Later, when he walks over to Clarke and the others, their conversation quickly dies. 

“First impressions?” He asks her, trying to ignore the obvious fact that what they were saying about his camp wasn’t positive. 

“Winter will kill you all.” Clarke answers straight out. 

Bellamy is slightly taken aback by her bluntness. 

“What she means to say is that it will take a lot of work to get this camp ready for winter, but that it’s still possible.” Lincoln says, looking at Clarke in a way that makes Bellamy think he’s reprimanding her manners. 

Clarke rolls her eyes and turns back to him. 

“Where is your healer? Your medical…..” She stops, as if searching for the word. 

“Facility” Lincoln finishes for her. 

Bellamy looks between the two of them, wondering if they had grown up together. They seemed close.

“We don’t really have one.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. It had definitely presented itself a problem that they had no one with any medical expertise when the camp had come down with flu. 

Clarke gapes at him. 

“What?” He asks, although he definitely knows why she’s looking at him like that. 

He hears her say something under her breath, and although he doesn’t speak the language, it sounds too much like ‘idiot’ to be a coincidence. 

“We will have to teach you then.” She says, “Now show us where you keep your food.” 

 

Bellamy sucks in a breath. This was not going to go well.

~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do they call you Wanheda?” Bellamy asks carefully, “The commander of death?”  
> Clarke’s jaw clenches and her eyes flit away.  
> “I took down the mountain.” She says.  
> “The mountain?”
> 
> He is met with silence.

~ ~

The first four days the grounders stayed with them consisted of a lot of disapproving looks from Clarke. 

Each time she asked for the state of something in their camp, Bellamy had to brace himself from the scrutiny the grounders would each give him. Sure, he knew the camp wasn’t the soundest thing on the planet, but he and the delinquents had built everything from scratch. For the short time they had been on the ground, they had taken a hunk of a broken space ship and made a civilisation. Only after explaining this to Clarke had she seemed to use more patient words and looks at the state of the camp. 

“How would you feel about cabins? Or…houses?” She said to him one morning, comfortably plopping herself down next to him around the camp fire some of the younger kids had begged for. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to make sure none of his breakfast stuck there, he turns towards her, confused. 

“What?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t speak english.” She says, slightly annoyed, “You know, buildings…to live in.”

“I know what houses are Clarke.” He snaps, bristling. 

 She has no reaction to his hostile tone.

“Your tents will offer no protection from the cold once it comes. Especially when you have no fur to warm you. Your people will freeze. Building houses is the best solution.” 

“But we have no room in the camp for houses.” He says, looking around at the small expanse of land around them. 

He glances back over at Clarke, the look in her eyes startling him slightly. 

“I know.” She says. 

 

He catches on instantly. 

“No. No way. We aren’t moving camp.” He says, standing up and shaking his head. 

Clarke follows him up, watching as he throws the leftover bones from the weird bird they had caught for breakfast into the fire. 

He starts to walk away, angry, when her hand wraps around his arm and forcibly pulls him back. The camp goes silent, watching Clarke, still wary of any hostility her people might show.

“Belomi” she says, her accent thick.

Despite the grip she has on his arm, he refuses to turn around to face her. This grounder does not get to dictate how his people should live. 

She sighs.

“Bellamy” she says slowly, as if testing his name on her tongue. 

 

He turns back. His gaze softens once it lands on her. He looks down. She is still just a stranger whom he is supposed to marry. In the four days she’s been here, they’ve hardly spoken about anything other than the camp. Sure, she hadn’t donned her war paint again, but she was still wearing her hair in tight braids, eating with only the other grounders and choosing to sleep outside of the camp, even though he offered his own tent. He was supposed to marry this person, and yet he knew very little about her. He hoped to change that. 

“You have done good here. But this will help your people. You need to thrive, not just survive.” She says softly, lowering her voice so the delinquents watching them won’t hear her. 

A lump forms in his throat, making it impossible for him to speak. Her eyes seem to search his for a moment. She looks away. Maybe she found what she was looking for. 

“Bellamy!” Someone screams for him across the camp. It sounds like one of the younger girls.

 

Clarke startles, letting go of his arm. 

Together, they run to the source of scream, pushing through the small crowd of teenagers.

Shouldering past the last of them, Bellamy takes in the sight before him. 

Murphy and Lincoln scuffle on the ground, both trying to overpower the other. Bellamy freezes. Murphy holds a knife in one of his hands, slashing at whatever part of Lincoln he can reach, snarling like an animal. Lincoln grunts in pain after one of Murphy’s swings cuts him deeply across the face. 

Murphy is fighting to kill, Lincoln seems to just be fighting to get the knife away.

Beside him, Clarke moves to step into the fight when Lincoln suddenly flips Murphy onto his back, giving him the upper hand. He pushes Murphy’s arm down, and continues adding pressure onto his wrist until Murphy is forced to release the knife. Clarke darts forwards and kicks it away. Lincoln slowly looks up at Clarke and nods at her, smiling slightly in relief. Bellamy watches the tension leave Clarke’s face instantly, relief flooding in waves. 

 

A loud bang makes the entire camp jump. 

 

He watches, as if in slow motion, as Clarke’s face pales. Her mouth opens in disbelief, as her eyes drop to Lincoln’s abdomen, where blood is already flowing, staining his clothes and puddling on the ground. A horrible cry leaves her throat as she drops forwards on her knees to catch him before he falls. Murphy uses the chance to get out from under the grounder, rolling away and jumping to his feet. Miller hits him in the back of the head with his gun before he has the chance to run away. 

Bellamy sees Acher and Tiga push through teenagers roughly, shoving them aside, desperate to find Clarke. As they reach them, and see Lincoln leaning heavily on Clarke, his head resting on her shoulder with her hands curled around his neck and back, they unsheathe their weapons and snarl. 

_“En ge back! En ge back!”_

_“Natrona! Natrona!”_

Most of the delinquents rush back, trying to escape the fury of the grounders, but some take our their own weapons, training their guns on Clarke and the others. 

“Lincoln open your eyes! _Beja beja!_ Please!” He hears Clarke cry, she lowers Lincoln onto his back and starts putting pressure onto his bullet wound, the scarlet blood soaking her hands and clothes. 

“Puts your weapons down grounder scum or the blonde bitch dies!” 

Bellamy sees red. One of Murphy’s friends has a rifle trained on the back of Clarke’s head. How did he even get a gun? Where did the order go?

Rushing forwards, Bellamy rips the rifle from the kid’s hands, smacking it into his face for good measure. He turns around, his eyes catching the piercing blue of Clarke’s. Hers are glassy but determined. She nods in gratitude before turning back to Lincoln, her lips forming a thin line. Sweat makes her hair stick to her neck and forehead. 

 

“What the fuck happened?” He hears Raven say from behind him. Octavia trails behind her, her eyes wide and alert.

“We heard a gunshot and people yelli-” Octavia’s voice falters once she catches sight of Lincoln. She steps forwards and drops to her knees in front of Clarke, the closest she had gotten to the girl since finding out she would be marrying her brother. 

“What can I do?” She asks Clarke, her face pale, her voice cracking. 

Bellamy swallows. He had seen Octavia and Lincoln talking a couple times, but something was off with the way O was looking at Lincoln’s prone form. 

“Monty. I need Monty.” 

Octavia nods, and darts away, shoving people out of the way. Clarke says something to Acher and Tiga, making them nod and run out the camp and into the forest. Bellamy’s first thought is that she was going to send for backup, the grounders were going to wipe them out. 

 

“Bellamy.” Clarke says. 

He shakes himself from his thoughts. Clarke knows that this wasn’t the act of all of his people, she wouldn't do that.

He loosens his grip on the rifle and steps in front of Clarke, crouching beside Lincoln. He watches as she lifts a hand to brush at a curl that had escaped from her braids, streaking blood across her face in the process. 

“I need you to help me carry him into the ship.” She says, her eyes pleading. 

Bellamy nods, licking his lips, before moving to pass her his rifle so his hands are free. She flinches away from the gun, almost jumping back to get away from it. Bellamy ceases his movements and brings his hands up in surrender. He hands it to Miller instead, carefully watching Clarke. She seemed afraid of the gun itself. 

Lincoln’s eyes flutter open and his hand grasps at Clarke as Bellamy lifts him. 

“ _Em's okay strisis. Ai'm okay._ ” He mutters.

Bellamy grunts with Lincoln’s weight. Why couldn't he be one of the smaller grounders. 

“What’d he say?” Bellamy asks Clarke. 

“It’s okay little sister.” She translates quietly. 

Bellamy’s throat closes. He’s going to kill the kid that shot Lincoln. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

He ends up banishing Murphy along with the other kids that took his side in the fight, not wanting to become those horrible people on the ark whom they had escaped from. 

Although Clarke had to inform Lexa and the others of what happened to Lincoln, Bellamy figures she must have said something about the rest of the delinquents protecting them because the grounder army hadn’t come marching up to the gate. 

He hadn’t seen much of Clarke or Octavia in the past three days, with both of them refusing to leave Lincoln’s side. Although, he had heard from Monty in passing that the strange seaweed that the other grounders had gathered at Clarke’s orders was bringing down the fever Lincoln had developed, after Clarke poulticed the wound. She believes that Lincoln will pull through. 

Cracking his neck, Bellamy walks around the campfire. A sudden cold snap had washed over the camp, bringing runny noses, whining children and the risk of hypothermia. Although a recent supply run Clarke had called for meant the kids had warm animal fur for the cold nights, none of the delinquents were quite prepared for the way the cold would seep its way through all your layers of clothing to grip at your core. 

Bellamy was already over the cold. 

After draping an extra blanket over two of the younger girls in the camp, Bellamy finally sits down in front of the fire. He had been up on his feet all day, trying to ease some of the tension that had settled between the grounders and the 100 after recent events. But, without Lincoln or Clarke’s level-headed presence, or even the quiet but calming presence of Monty, the only grounders the delinquents were exposed to were the menacing Tiga and Acher. The younger kids would still take a wide berth around them when they were guarding Clarke in the dropship. 

 

“Thank you.”  

Bellamy startles as Clarke suddenly materialises beside him.

She crouches down in front of the fire, keeping her eyes on its flames and bringing her hands up to warm them.

“For saving me the other day.” She elaborates.

Bellamy clears his throat. 

“It’s nothing.” He says awkwardly.

At that, Clarke cocks her head towards him. 

“It’s not nothing to me. You saved me and Lincoln. We are now indebted to you and your people.” 

Bellamy looks away from her intense gaze, choosing to instead watch the embers of the fire. As they fly upwards, they seem to twist together. Almost in a dance. 

“What was it like?” Clarke asks, moving to sit beside him. Close, but they still aren’t touching. 

“What was what like?” He asks, bringing his knees up towards his chest, his arms hanging loosely around them. 

“Space.” She answers, slightly turning towards him. The fire seems to enhance the brightness of her hair, with the flames reflecting off of her golden locks, almost making it look like her hair was moving itself. 

She rests her chin on her hand, slowly blinking at the flames. 

Looking at her now, one word seems to pop in to his mind to describe her: soft.

A word that he never thought he'd associate with the blonde warrior she truly is. 

Where did the harsh Wanheda go? And why is he so happy that that side of her seems to have disappeared. 

Bellamy blinks several times and looks away from her. His mind is slightly hazy, and his chest is unfamiliarly warm. 

 

“Lonely.” He answers. 

A crash sounds from behind him, making him turn to identify the noise. A small smile graces his face when he realises its just a group of delinquents trying to play some weird drinking game Jasper invented. He watches in amusement as a laughing Jasper stumbles into Monty, the quiet grounder who had introduced his moonshine to the others at Jasper’s begging. Monty smiles back, grabbing at the lanky teen to steady him, his eyes meeting Miller’s from across the camp before shyly flitting away. 

“I haven’t seem him this…happy…in a long time.” Clarke admits, seeing where Bellamy was looking. 

They make eye contact, and Bellamy is struck again at just how young she is. No way this girl sitting in front of him right now is the same girl he had first been introduced to. 

“Why do they call you Wanheda?” Bellamy asks carefully, “The commander of death?” 

Clarke’s jaw clenches and her eyes flit away. 

“I took down the mountain.” She says. 

“The mountain?”

 

He is met with silence. 

 

Another chorus of laughter sounds from behind him.  

“I did what I had to do. To protect my people.” She says lowly. 

“Is that why you agreed to marry a complete stranger?”

She closes her eyes. Shadows from the flames flit across her face. 

“It is my duty. As it is yours.” 

She smirks. 

“Besides, as far as husbands go, you don’t seem that bad.” 

Bellamy laughs, bright and loud, startled. 

She grins at him.

 

She didn’t seem that bad either.

~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the silence, some of the delinquents step backwards, fearful.  
> Her hard gaze meets his, her blue eyes dark and dangerous. He searches them for a moment, but he finds no remorse there.
> 
>  
> 
> “I guess I am a killer.”

~ ~

After his talk with Clarke at the fire, tension had slowly begun to leave the camp. Although he would still catch the occasional wary look thrown in the direction of the grounders, the delinquents had slowly begun to accept their presence. 

Lincoln, although slow moving due his recent injuries, was welcomed to sit at the campfire the first night he had been back up on his feet. That night had been filled with his soft tone telling the kids (and Octavia) about his time living on the ground, answering any of their curious questions. Bellamy admits, that even he was quite interested in what the grounder had to say. 

Monty, whom had barely separated from Jasper since that first night of drinking games- much to Bellamy’s dismay when it turned out they both had a knack for causing disaster- had easily fit in with the delinquents. His calming nature and lack of violence had quickly debunked all the harsh stereotypes his people had assigned to the grounders as a whole, making it easier for them to accept the alliance. And, just the other night, Bellamy had even seen him sharing a drink with the surly Miller, small smiles being exchanged between them (which when he brought it up to his friend later, it was flat-out denied…Liar). 

So overall, Bellamy was finally feeling good about the alliance, that maybe, after all the fighting and violence they had been victim to since landing on the ground, peace could be an actual possibility; for the delinquents and for him. Especially with the way Clarke had slowly been relaxing into the skaikru lifestyle. 

 

“Your people need to learn how to hunt.” Clarke says from her place in the corner of the dropship, paper scattered around her. She had spent the last hour helping him design their future cabins, and scour over maps to find a new place for his people to live. Looking up at her now, he notes the stray streak of charcoal that is smudged across her cheek, the small curls that frame her face, and the peace that seems to irradiate from her being. 

“We know how to hunt.” He says, dismissive. 

She looks up from the design she is currently working on, one eyebrow raised. 

“The week I’ve been here, all your people have managed to kill are small animals.” She looks back down, adding another stroke to her impressive drawing. “The slow ones.” She adds as an afterthought. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, smiling a little, going back to watching her draw, mesmorised. She definitely didn't strike him as an artist when they first met. She was full of surprises.

“And I want to teach Octavia to fight.” She says, matter-of-factly. 

The smile disappears from his face instantly. He rears backwards, as if she had slapped him.

“No way. No fucking way.” 

“She needs to learn. The ground is no place for weakness.” 

“So what- you want to teach her to become a killer?! Like You?” 

He wishes he could take it back the instant it leaves his mouth. He knows whatever progress they had made- whatever tentative friendship they had formed- was now shattered. 

When she looks up at him, he can’t read her expression, like she had put her mask back on. 

This was no longer the soft Clarke he had started to know. This was the Clarke he had been introduced to. Wanheda. 

Bellamy swallows and drops his eyes, no longer wanting to see her hard stare.

The sound of the charcoal scratching at the paper is the only thing filling the lower level of the dropship, echoing off of the metal. 

He carefully glances back up at Clarke, biting his lip. Hair falls in her face as she draws strokes onto the paper in front of her. He looks down. He feels like they’re now back at square one. He doesn't know why he said what he did- maybe it was his protectiveness over his sister, or his distrust of the grounder’s and their motives…but either way, something about her makes him want to argue with her, to see how far he can push her.

 

The scratching echoes in his ears.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Something had changed in Clarke. Like she had suddenly snapped back into her shell, embodying the warrior personality that had been thrust upon her. Sure, she still helped him with the plans for the new camp and their survival in winter, but she was more distant from him and the rest of skaikru. 

Before, she would sit with all of them at the campfire, talking patiently with some of the younger ones whenever they asked her questions. She had relaxed around his people, and in return, they had become less wary of her. But after he had snapped at her, she no longer joined them at the fire. Every spare moment she had where she wasn’t forced to engage with them, she would spend her time with Tiga and Acher; the two looming grounders who hadn't stopped glaring at his people since they got here. 

She stopped accepting questions from any of the delinquents. In fact, the 100 caught on to her quiet ferocity quite early, choosing to give her a wide berth whenever she walked past. 

 

“What’s up with Clarke?” Octavia asks on the ninth day the grounders had been in their camp.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bellamy lies, not looking up from where he is gutting their latest kill- just like Lincoln taught him.

Octavia raises an eyebrow at him.  
“Everyone in camp has noticed. I know you’re shitting me right now.” She says, placing a hand on her hip, “She finally started acting like a normal person, not going with that whole violent grounder crap. I was starting to think that maybe that stupid arranged marriage between the two of you wouldn't be all that bad but now she’s suddenly acting all scary again. Seriously. Does she need all those knives on her at once?” 

Bellamy says nothing for a few moments when Octavia suddenly takes the knife from him, shoving his hand away from the meat he was trying to prepare. 

“You’re doing it all wrong Bell. God. I thought Lincoln taught you how to do this.” 

They sit together in silence for a few moments, and Bellamy listens to the sound of the knife slicing through the raw meat. 

He watches Octavia work, studying her face. She had matured since he had last seen her on the ark. Her hair had grown out of that godforsaken fringe she had begged him to cut for her, and her face had lost some of its childish roundness. 

“She wanted to teach you how to fight.” He finally admits, studying her face for a reaction.

She has none, she just continues cutting the meat. Bellamy huffs. She already knew about it. Maybe she had been the one that had approached Clarke with the idea. 

“What did you say to her?” Octavia asks, her voice slightly clipped.

“I told her no.” 

Octavia pauses, looking up at him with disapproval in her eyes.

“Clarke doesn’t take shit. That wouldn’t be what’s making her act like she is now. What else did you say?” 

Bellamy looks down at his bloody hands. When did she and Clarke get so close? Had they become friends or was Clarke simply trying to be hospitable towards the girl who would become her sister-in-law.

Oh god. The marriage.

“I told her that I didn’t want you to become a killer.” He says quietly, “Like she was.”

He suddenly feels a sharp pain on his temple. He jerks backwards.

“Ow what the hell O.” His hand comes up to the place where Octavia flicked him.

She simply stares at him, unimpressed.

“You are such a frickin idiot.”

“I kno-” He starts but Octavia cuts him off.

“No you don’t know Bell. Lincoln hasn’t told me much, but he said that Clarke hates being called Wanheda. That she feels grief and guilt more deeply than anyone he knows. She even puts those stupid red streaks in her hair to remind herself of the blood she spilt- so she doesn’t forget all the bad things she’s done. Some kind of penance for her sin or whatever. Eternal self-punishment.”

Bellamy feels like shit.

“What do I do?”

“Talk to her. Contrary to popular belief, she is a human. I know I definitely didn’t like her at first because of what she was doing to you- but once I talked to her…” She trails off.

Dropping the knife and wiping her hands on her pants, she stands.

“Just go find her.” She says, turning on her heel and walking away.

He watches as she goes, only looking away after she reaches Lincoln and Wells, not liking the small bit of anger that he feels in his chest when she kisses Lincoln’s cheek.

His overprotectiveness of Octavia had already screwed up their relationship with the grounders enough. It wasn’t his place. 

After stacking up the meat and wrapping it tightly in a piece of tarp he had found, he stands, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants. He gestures for some kid to take over looking after the meat and its scraps and then walks towards the entry of the dropship where he had last seen Clarke. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Clarke’s not here.” He hears after searching the first level of the dropship. He had expected her to be in here with Monty, putting together the final touches of the infirmary they had been creating.

He turns, finally noticing the little girl sitting on the table near the side of the room; Charlotte he thinks her name is. 

“Where is she?” He asks, taking in her appearance. She has dried tear tracks over her face, her braids are messy and she’s wringing her hands together in her lap. 

“She was going to give me something to help me sleep when that scary grounder came to get her.”

“Which one?”

“I think it was Tiga but I’m not sure. They both look so similar.” 

He nods, almost turning to leave when he thinks better of it.

“Why do you need help sleeping? Are you sick?” He asks, coming to crouch in front of her.

“I have nightmares.” She says quietly, looking down at her lap. “Clarke heard me screaming in my sleep this morning and told me she could help me. That she could give me some of the tonic that helps her sleep through her own nightmares.” 

“That could work” he says nodding his head, “or you could get rid of your nightmares completely.”

“How?” she asks, disbelieving but curious. 

“Slay your demons.” He says, reaching to grab the knife tucked into his waistband. He places it into her hand, tightening her fingers around its hilt.

“If you slay them while you’re awake, they can’t get to you while you’re sleeping.” He tells her, letting go of her hand. 

Suddenly remembering what he used to tell Octavia when she was little and afraid of the dark, he speaks again, 

“If you just say these words: screw you, I’m not afraid, over and over again, nothing can touch you.” 

“Screw you, I’m not afraid.” She repeats, tightening her grip on the knife.

Bellamy grins, patting her knee.

“You’ve got it.”

He stands, giving Charlotte one more look, before exiting the dropship in search of Clarke and Tiga.

 

It doesn’t take him long to find them.

 

In the middle of the camp a small crowd has formed, muttering amongst themselves. As Bellamy pushes through, he sees Clarke and Tiga standing near the gate of the camp, arguing. Clarke has a tight grip on Tiga’s arm, holding him in place.

“ _Yu ste kwelen showing hodnes gon emo skai kru_.” Tiga hisses to Clarke, glaring down at her.

Everyone in the camp goes silent. Bellamy watches as she rears backwards, letting go of his arm as if his skin burned her, her face hardening. Suddenly, she launches herself forwards, gripping the back of Tiga’s neck, holding a knife to his throat. 

“ _Nou forget chon yu laik speaking kom_.” She snaps, pushing the blade further into him, making a small trickle of blood flow down his neck. Her eyes flash dangerously. 

Just as Bellamy moves to step in, afraid that she might kill him, Clarke drops the knife from Tiga’s throat and shoves him towards the gate.

_“Go houm yu don disrespected your heda.”_ She yells, waving the knife at him. 

He glares at her, slowing wiping away the blood at his throat. 

“ _Natrona_.” He spits at her feet, flicking the blood from his fingertips onto the ground. He does a wide sweeping glance of the camp, taking in the delinquents, his eyes resting on Bellamy before flicking back to Clarke. 

“These people are not my people.” 

 

Bellamy watches as Tiga turns and begins to slowly walk towards the gate, hissing at any delinquents that get too close, making them stumble to get out of his way. 

Lincoln suddenly steps up beside him, his eyes watching Clarke carefully. 

“What did Tiga say?” Bellamy asks quietly, so Clarke won’t hear. 

“He called her weak for showing kindness to your people. He called her a traitor.” Lincoln answers back, quiet, tense. 

Bellamy’s eyes flick to Clarke, seeing the anger ripple through her in waves. Her shoulders tense, and her fingers begin to twist the knife in her hand. He moves to step beside her when she suddenly grips the knife, twisting her shoulder and throwing it straight at Tiga. 

A collective gasp goes through the delinquents. Lincoln barely reacts. 

The knife hits Tiga in the back of his neck, making blood spurt from his throat and gurgle from his mouth. His hands come up towards the tip of the knife protruding from his neck. He gurgles and then stumbles, twisting around until he falls to his knees facing Clarke.

She slowly walks towards him, fierce, powerful. 

Bellamy watches in horror as she grips the handle of the knife and rips it from Tiga’s neck, severing his spine. He coughs blood onto Clarke’s face and clothes, the colour matching the red streaks of her hair. She barely blinks. 

_“Yu gonplei ste odon”_ she says as he falls to the side, eyes open but unmoving. 

She wipes the blade on her jacket, turning around to face them all. Bellamy clenches his jaw. 

“Acher!” She yells.

As he steps forward at her beckon, silent, not looking at the body, she gestures for him to join her. 

“Take his body back to the commander and tell her of his sins. His death shall be example of those who go against the skaikru alliance. An act against them is an act against me. May all the wrath of Wanheda be unleashed upon them.” 

Acher nods before kneeling in front of Tiga, gently lifting him from the dirt. His head lolls, barring his wound to the crowd formed. Bellamy feels sick. 

“We do not mourn traitors.” She says to Acher, seeing the expression on his face. 

Holding the corpse of his friend, Acher lifts his head, his eyes filled with anger, and stares straight at Clarke, searching her eyes. Bellamy wonders if he’s looking for any signs of remorse; any sign of a soul. She lifts her chin, daring him to speak against her. 

He says nothing. 

Bellamy watches as he turns, his entire body shaking with anger, and walks the same path Tiga had travelled just before. 

Once he disappears into the forest, all attention is back on Clarke and the way she stands alone, holding a blood-stained knife, surrounded by strangers. 

In the silence, some of the delinquents step backwards, fearful. 

He watches as she looks up, searching the crowd. Her hard gaze meets his, her blue eyes dark and dangerous. He searches them for a moment, but he finds no remorse there. 

 

“I guess I am a killer.”

~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But I’m not-” Bellamy starts, knowing perfectly well that the grounders could survive easily without the alliance. Lincoln puts down the vial and turns around to face Bellamy, resting his back against the table.
> 
> “The moment she agreed to marry you, you became her people,” he says quietly, “She’ll be back.”

 

~ ~

Acher doesn’t return. 

Bellamy finds himself constantly looking in the direction of the gate in the days that follow Tiga’s murder—but no one appears. There isn’t a peep from the other grounders, and the camp is just left with Lincoln, Monty and Clarke. While the former seem to be thriving in the environment, Clarke slowly withdraws further and further into herself. With every tense, angry or fearful look she receives, Bellamy watches as her face hardens. She avoids everyone and everyone avoids her—even Lincoln and Monty seem to have been kept at a distance. 

And Bellamy is supposed to be marrying her in two days.

 

A loud crash shakes him from his reverie, and Bellamy watches from his place on guard at the fence, as Clarke stalks her way across the camp and towards the gate. Some avoid her gaze awkwardly, while others stumble out of her way with cries of fear. He watches as she clenches her jaw. 

Without her looming body guards, she doesn’t seem as small. Or maybe it’s the hard look in her eyes and the extra streaks of red in her hair, that resemble the colour of Tiga’s blood. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bellamy asks as she starts to exit the camp. She glares up at him, says nothing, and keeps walking—seemingly blending into the undergrowth as she goes.

 

Bellamy increases his grip on his rifle in anger and looks back over the camp. The tense air seems to have suddenly lifted—the second Clarke stepped out of the gate. He watches silently as the camp seems to come alive again. As he tracks his eyes over the group that have started playing some crude version of hopscotch, to Monty and Miller talking besides the fire, his eyes stop and narrow at the sight of Lincoln tucking a strand of hair behind Octavia’s ear. He tenses and swallows thickly, forcing his gaze to keep going. 

In two days, Bellamy would marry Clarke. He’d become a husband to someone who wouldn’t even speak to him—speak to anybody. He guessed, really, he wasn’t marrying Clarke—the soft girl who appeared so briefly. He was marrying Wanheda. The killer.

 

This is not how he thought his life would go. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

Clarke doesn’t return that night, or the next day. 

When Bellamy expressed his concerns to Lincoln, he was simply dismissed.

 

“Clarke is fine,” Lincoln says, waving away Bellamy’s concern, not even lifting his head from where he is sorting herbs and different vials.

“But what if she’s not back in time for…the ceremony,” Bellamy grits his teeth, “We need this alliance.” 

“She’ll be back,” Lincoln says calmly, lifting up one vial to look at it closely. 

“How do you know?”

“Because she always puts her people first.” 

“But I’m not-” Bellamy starts, knowing perfectly well that the grounders could survive easily without the alliance. Lincoln puts down the vial and turns around to face Bellamy, resting his back against the table.

“The moment she agreed to marry you, you became her people,” he says quietly, “She’ll be back.” 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Clarke returns early in the morning of the day they’re due back to the grounder village—the day they’re supposed to marry. As Bellamy ducks out of his tent, a little bleary eyed and shivering due to the early morning mist, he sees Clarke walk slowly back into the camp. She’s covered in grime and blood, her hair is matted and she walks a little gingerly, but her eyes are brighter than he’s seen them in days. His eyes drop to the thing she’s dragging behind her on a tarp pulled by ropes. 

It takes him a second to remember the name of the animal, reaching far back into his memory to the old books he’d read on the ark. It’s a panther, he thinks, taking in its black shiny coat. A massive one. 

Clarke meets his gaze and gives him a small nod. His eyes flick back down to the panther, before he raises one eyebrow at her. 

“The younger ones were becoming too skinny,” she says quietly, continuing to pull the panther towards the dropship. As he watches her go, Bellamy hears Lincoln’s words echo in his head. 

 

_You became her people_. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

The second they make it to the grounder village, they’re whisked away to get ready. Bellamy stands mutely as a group of old grounders scrub at the dirt on his skin, push clothes and armour into his hands, and swirl paint around his eyes. 

“It’s a simple ceremony,” Lincoln says from a corner in the tent, “You say a few words and then are bound by blood and it’s over.” 

“Bound by blood?” Bellamy asks, lifting his arms up at the beckoning of an old gap toothed grounder woman. She doesn’t seem to know any english so she just pushes and prods at him until he complies. 

“Yes, you cut your hand with a dagger and she cuts hers and you clasp hands as our priest speaks over you.”

“That doesn’t seem sanitary,” Bellamy says as the old woman ties a sash around him, sliding a dagger into it. 

Lincoln smiles slightly, amused, before a grounder appears outside the tent and speaks to him quietly. Lincoln nods, and turns back to Bellamy, his eyes raking up his form. 

“Ready?” 

 

Bellamy swallows against the panic rising in his chest, and nods—words escaping him. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Bellamy is standing next to a grounder, who he assumes is the priest, in a room full of strangers. Although his sister argued, he only brought Wells with him, making the others stay in safety of their camp in case things went sour. 

Sitting in front of him, to the left, is Lexa—terrifying as ever in her warrior getup, with her lips pursed. Besides from her, Lincoln and Wells, he doesn’t recognise anyone else in the room. Until of course, the door opens and Clarke silently steps inside. She isn’t holding flowers or wearing a white dress like the women in the videos from the archives on the ark. She doesn’t look delicate, or joyful. 

 

She looks powerful. Dangerous. 

 

Bellamy’s eyes rake across her body as she walks towards him. The blood and dirt from this morning is gone, and her hair looks soft and curled. But her eyes are fierce, no longer brightened by the soft morning light—piercing against the black paint swirled around her eyes. She looks focused. Determined. 

As she steps up beside him, Bellamy can see her hands shaking slightly. He has the sudden urge to grab them, to calm her, but he resists. 

As the priest starts to speak words he doesn’t understand, Bellamy keeps his gaze on Clarke, letting out a shaky breath as her eyes meet his. They soften slightly and he swears she gives him a small nod, but before he has the chance to confirm his suspicions, Clarke suddenly unsheathes the dagger strapped to her side. The metal glints at his eyes and he has to resist the urge to take a step back as he remembers what she did to Tiga. 

 

“ _Ai bound myself kom yu. Ai badan yu op en nou moun_ ,” the priest starts.

Clarke nods at the priest, twirls the dagger in her hand and places the blade onto her open palm, staring directly into Bellamy’s eyes.

“I bound myself to you,” she repeats, blessedly in english, slicing at the skin on her palm—without wincing, without looking away from his gaze, “I serve you and no other.” 

Clarke nods to him, and he know that it must be his turn, “I bound myself to you,” he says, wincing slightly as the dagger cuts against his skin, “I serve you and no other.” 

 

As the priest continues, “ _As osir join in jus, osir join gon eternity_ ,” Bellamy feels warm blood start to trickle down his arm. His hand throbs but he is determined to not show weakness here. 

“As we join in blood, we join for eternity,” Clarke says, her voice wavering slightly as she clutches at his hand. 

“As we join in blood, we join for eternity,” he repeats, increasing the grip on her hand. 

 

A sash is tied around their clasped hands and the priest starts to say more words that Bellamy doesn’t understand. He thinks he should feel nervous, but the nerves, along with the panic, has left him. As he gazes into Clarke’s piercing blue eyes, calmness floods through his body. 

And when she leans in and gently presses her lips to his in a dry kiss, a warmth spreads through his body.

He is a husband. He has a wife. 

And although his wife is almost a stranger, for the first time since Octavia was discovered and his mother was floated, Bellamy does not feel alone. 

 

_She is my people._

_~ ~_

 


End file.
